I was taking my usual sunrise walk when a little black dog barked and ran at me. I’ve met the dog before, but evidently s/he didn’t remember. With a name like Raven, how could you tell whether the animal was male or female? For the sake of brevity, it will now be referred to as he. He was in a frenzy of barking, so I stopped, held out my hand, and spoke softly. A woman opened the front door, yelling his name. If I hadn’t known the name before, I would have memorized it before the incident was over. I waved, but woman and dog were equally oblivious. When yelling like a banshee had no effect on Raven, the woman ran out to the street barefoot and in her pajamas. What was the proper etiquette? I walked back, hoping Raven would follow and put the woman out of her embarrassment. I guess we were all doing our jobs. Raven defended his family. The woman tried to control her pet, and I pretended I hadn’t noticed her failure. She finally suggested I walk on, which I did. I found it amusing that the way I often meet people through their pets had the opposite effect this morning. At this moment that poor woman is probably hoping she’ll never see me again.
I’ve been aware of saucer-shaped spider webs since we first moved here. In October the webs looked like a special Halloween decoration on the evergreens at the top of our street. Today the webs in the sheep pasture looked as if they had ghostly roofs on top. Down in the valley, the webs were closer to the road. Thankfully I’ve never seen a single spider, so I can view the webs as art. A double set of webs on the same weed suggested a two-story living arrangement. Next door was a mother/daughter abode. Most days the webs are invisible, but they were highly visible today with the morning mist clinging to every thread.